


Silver Springs

by sinceregalaxy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drabble, F/M, Post-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Pre-X-Files Revival, why mulder doesn't have a car in s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinceregalaxy/pseuds/sinceregalaxy
Summary: And suddenly she’s there next to you, popping bubblegum and tapping a beat on the center console.





	Silver Springs

_you'll never get away from the sound of the woman who loves you_ -fleetwood mac

 

The furnace in the basement hums persistently. Newscasters on the television voice forced sadness over another tragic event. The leaky faucet you promised to fix weeks ago continues to drip at a slow cadence.

You stand in front of the staircase, waiting.

Over the last few years, you came to expect all her worries and threats. When all the words were exhausted and the tears stopped flowing, you’d take her face in your hands, tell her to get some sleep and that you’d try a little harder tomorrow. And then life went on.

Last night hadn’t seemed any different until today.

Today you didn’t hear the shower go on upstairs or the microwave ring when her oatmeal was cooked. There were no flushing toilets or closing doors or starting cars.

And so you’re standing, waiting to hear the creak of the staircase. The click of high-heeled shoes on wood. A “good morning, Mulder” or even a “have you taken your medicine, yet.” Any sound indicating that someone still lives in this old house with you. All at once you hear it all, clear as day and right as rain.

In the kitchen, the sound of take-out boxes being set on the counter. The pop of a cork and the clink of a glass of wine being poured. Another half-hearted complaint about the faucet.

In the living room, the scratchy, old blanket rustles now and then. There’s the sound of changing television channels until one is finally settled on. “Come in here, Mulder,” you hear, “they’re playing your favorite.”

In your office, the shifting of paper and the rolling of the desk chair. Her voice carries to you, bemoaning about some story in Kentucky that “absolutely cannot be true.” She launches into some scientific explanation as the filing cabinets open and close intermittently.

In the basement, you hear the sound of boxes being dragged up the stairs. The soft sound of string lights being untangled. Something about it being Christmas and needing a little light in your life.

In the bedroom, there’s the shrill sound of the alarm clock going off. The bed you don’t sleep in anymore squeaks. She calls for you, wants you to hear her moan your name. Wants to listen as you moan hers.

And in the other room upstairs, the one that’s always silent, you hear quiet sniffling. Listen for the words in her whispered prayer. Something about not wanting to lose you, too.

You can hear it all, wanting to believe so badly that she hasn’t left. Your mind has betrayed you. You’ve already looked. There is no one cooking in the kitchen, complaining in your office, or unpacking in the basement. There’s no one to watch a movie with in the living room, no one to kiss in the bedroom, and no one to comfort in the bedroom.

You can’t bear to listen to the phantom presence any longer. Your keys jangle against the keychain she gave you for your birthday. The screen door slams behind you on you way out. The old truck you’ve had since the days of hiding on back roads and in crappy motels sputters when it starts. The driving helps, at first. You can escape the reverberations of the house as you drive away. You drown it all out with the loud diesel engine and the wind whipping through the cab as you drive too fast down the rural roads.

Then, you make the mistake of turning on the radio, and it hurts more every time you switch the station. Some song that she might have sang for you if you felt alive enough to ask. Or one you should have played while pulling her through door to dance. Away from the cold and into your arms.

And suddenly she’s there next to you, popping bubblegum and tapping a beat on the center console. An offhand comment about the early hour. The rustling of a grocery bag. The snap of a bottle of iced tea being opened.

You slam on the breaks and pull over. The gear shift is thrown into park You stumble out of the truck, and you run. Your shoes slap the cracking pavement, and when you start hearing the click of heels you veer into a field. The long grass lashes against your skin and the drone of the breeze fills your ears.

You can still hear her.

You drop to knees and scream.

But still she’s there. Both the angel and the devil on your shoulder. Whispering all the things you need to hear yet tormenting you all the same. You love that you can still hear her steady voice speaking words of comfort. You hate that there are no hands gathering up yours, pulling you out from the dark and back home.

And finally, in the middle of some field where the wind carries the sound of her laughter, you weep.

Later, you’ll leave the truck in the middle of nowhere with the keys in the ignition. You’ll walk home, shivering, knowing she wouldn't approve. At the house, the heater will still be humming, the television still chattering, the faucet still dripping. Your phone will show no missed calls or new voicemails. Just a message telling you to take care of yourself and text if you need anything.

And you’ll wish she asked you to call.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hesitant to write anything for the x files because there's so many amazing authors out there who do mulder and scully better than I ever could. But I'd been rolling this idea around in my mind for a while and I was finally bored enough to write it. Give silver springs by fleetwood mac a listen if you haven't. I think it nails what a mulder/scully separation would be like in the sense that their bond is so strong and inevitable that it can't ever really be ended or avoided. Idk. Let me know what you think.


End file.
